


pieces

by chattrekisses



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Fluff and Angst, George fucks up, It gets smutty, M/M, Mia is in this too, Misunderstandings, New Year's Eve, Sexuality Crisis, and gets jealous, hi college admissions counselor, please don't read this one xoxo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chattrekisses/pseuds/chattrekisses
Summary: George knows he’s fucked, he knows he’s messed everything up when he’s watching Will and Mia dancing and thinks to himself, “I wish he touched me like that.”





	pieces

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! please enjoy this and let me know what you think! thanks to @roboticdisposition for editing this and being just bloody fantastic.

It’s 11:58 on New Year’s Eve, and the wind bites at George’s skin as he stands on his balcony, nursing an outrageous soft-drink-and-hard-liquor combination in a red solo cup. He notes the places where his skin is turning to goose pimples. He feels exposed.

Will has been staring at him all night. That makes him feel exposed too.

The door behind him makes a shuffling noise as it opens and shuts. George doesn’t look behind him, he knows who’s there. 

“Will?”

Will lets out a chuckle, and joins George in leaning against the balcony rail. “How’d you know?”

“It’s always you, innit?” George replies.

“S’pose it is,” Will said. “Though it could have been Alex or James, or, hell, anybody looking for a bit of air.”

“Nah,” George said, facing Will with a lazy smile. “You’re the one who checks up on me.”

“Somebody has to,” Will said, cheeks pinking. George notices this, and turns away, looking out across the London skyline. He takes a sip from his drink and feels the burn of alcohol trace a path to his stomach. He’s tipsy, buzzing; he feels like his edges are a bit blurry. Like he’s liquid, like he’s permeating, like he isn’t sure whether or not he’s in control. Will’s still watching him, he can feel it on the back of his neck. 

“You havin’ fun tonight?” Will asks. 

George meets Will’s gaze, and then, feeling impulsive, drains his glass. Alcohol gives him false courage. He faces Will.

This is the hard part. He knows how Will feels about him, how long he’s felt this way. When his gaze turned less friendly, more… something else. When Will touches him now and how different it is from when Alex or James do. Will is careful, afraid to overstep but hungry for contact. George looks at Will, and feels like his heart is frozen in his chest, an icy pit.

George looks at Will, and he knows that Will wants more than the friendship they have between them. 

“It’s alright,” George says, because what else can he say? “Bit lame. The one you and Gee threw last year was better.”

“To be fair, you didn’t help Alex at all,” Will laughs. “Poor sod pulled it all together this morning.”

“He could have asked me to help him,” George frowns. He crumples the empty cup in his hand, just so he can have something to do.

“You won’t wake up until it’s half past noon,” Will points out.

“Not my fault that I’m nocturnal,” George says.

“You should sleep more.” Carefully, Will rests a hand on George’s shoulder. George immediately tenses, draws in a shaky breath, and Will releases him. “Are you alright, mate?”

“Anxiety,” George explains. He isn’t lying, having all those people in his flat makes his skin itch. 

Will nods, understanding. “Want me to distract you?”

George nods. 

“Do you have any New Year’s Resolutions?”

“Be more honest,” George mutters. 

“That’s a good one,” Will says. “I might have to steal it.”

“Feel free,” George says, before wincing. He regrets that–– he doesn’t want Will to admit his feelings. He can’t deal with that, having to reject Will. George is straight. And even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t bear to date one of his best mates for fear that it would destroy his friendship.

The alcohol is hitting him hard now, sifting into his bloodstream. He feels unsteady on his own feet. Will seems to be all eyes, all a warm, captivating gaze.

“George, I should tell you something...”

Will’s cut off by screaming from inside, “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Someone lets a firework off early, and it snakes through the sky before exploding into a thousand sparkling flecks. 

“Seven! Six! Five!”

George takes a step closer to Will. For some reason, he needs to look at Will. Right now.

“Four! Three! Two!”

“George, you don’t have to…”

George shrugs. “It’s tradition, innit?”

“One!”

Will has his eyes closed, but he’s wired and tense, afraid. George places a hand on either side of Will’s jaw before pulling him down into a kiss. He means for it to be a friendly peck, the kind of kiss Will is clearly expecting. But as soon as Will’s lips touch his, something in George shatters. Suddenly he’s kissing Will with intention, with lips and teeth and tongue, with his heart racing in his chest. He wraps his arms around Will’s neck, pulling him in. At first Will is surprised, but soon his starts to kiss back, his hands finding the small of George’s back, pulling George’s body closer to his own. 

Someone inside wolf-whistles at them. George thinks that Will flips them off, but he isn’t certain. He’s too wrapped up in kissing Will.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He isn’t gay. He’s not. And this, kissing Will, it’s particularly dangerous because he’s definitely leading Will on. It’s not fair to Will. 

But George can’t bring himself to stop. He’s drunk, and he’s wicked lonely, and Will is here, kissing him like the world is ending. Maybe it is.

He figures that he can pretend Will is a girl, if he tries hard enough. If he finds himself needing to justify the situation. At the moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Will’s a fantastic kisser. He doesn’t kiss like a girl though, he fights back against George’s lips and tongue. He doesn’t feel like a girl either, he’s all hard planes and edges, ankles and elbows and angles. George thinks he likes it, but he doesn’t analyze it more than that. He doesn’t want to analyze it more than that. He just kisses Will harder.

*** 

George wakes up with a monster of a hangover, the kind that breaks your brain apart and re-stitches it in ways that don’t make sense. Everything hurts. His eyes hurt the most. 

His sheets pool in his lap as he sits up. He moves to get out of bed, but realizes that there’s an obstacle. Will, snoring like a trash compactor, taking up more than his fair share of mattress real estate. 

George confirms that he is indeed wearing clothes. He checks Will. They’re both covered. He’s still terrified. 

Will’s stayed the night before, sure. But he’s always taken the couch. 

George’s stomach is rolling like he’s on a ship, like he’s ocean-queasy. 

He climbs over Will, careful not to disturb him. As soon as he’s on solid ground, he bolts to the kitchen. 

Alex and George’s flat is a wreck. There’s a new stain on the wall that their landlord won’t be happy about. Alex and James are asleep on the couch using a beach towel as a blanket, which probably means that Fraser claimed Alex’s bed. Someone George doesn’t recognize is asleep on the floor. He steps over them, takes out the kettle, and fills it up. Tea will clear his head, maybe. 

The kettle is just starting to whistle when George feels himself get wrapped in a warm embrace.

George squeaks and jumps out of Will’s arms. “What are you doing?” George hisses.

Will’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “I was… hugging you?”

“Why?”

George feels sick to his stomach. When he looks at Will, all he can think of is what it felt like to kiss him. How it felt right when he knows it wasn’t.

Will’s neck is purple with bruises. Hickeys. George most certainly put them there. Suddenly, George can’t look at him.

Will is hesitant when he responds, “Last night, we…”

“Last night I was piss-drunk and we kissed, Will,” George says. “It was New Year’s. It doesn’t mean anything.” He knows he’s being harsh, cruel even, but he can’t help but add, “You’re my best friend.”

For a split second, Will’s expression drops. He looks like he’s been broken. But it’s quickly overridden by Will’s usual bright grin. “I know, ya melt. I’m just takin’ the piss.”

George knows he’s lying. He knows that Will is fighting to hold himself together, he can see it in Will’s eyes. But he allows the lie, soothes himself in it. “Nonce.”

“Wanker,” Will responds, a knee-jerk reaction.

Something in George settles. He starts to gather up mugs from the cabinet, lining them up on the counter. “You want some tea? We’ve got that posh herbal one that you like.”

“Nah,” Will says. “I should go home.”

“What?” George turns to Will, who’s already putting his coat on. 

“I’ve got a video to edit,” Will says. 

George knows he’s lying, Will just posted TWOTI yesterday, and has his videos queued up for the next week and a half so he can have some time to relax. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Will says. “Plus, I don’t have my key, so I need to get back before Gee decides to fuck off to brunch or something and leave me locked out.”

George nods and puts down the kettle. “I’ll get the door behind you.”

Will slips on his shoes. He leaves his shoes perpetually laced, which drives George batty. He can’t even explain why it bugs him, which pisses him off more. Will is maddening.

“I’ll get the door behind you,” George says.

“You already said that,” Will points out.

“Well, now you know for certain.”

George unlocks the door. He can sense Will beside him, tense like a wild animal. As Will exits the flat, George calls out after him, “I’m sorry!”

Will visibly winces as he turns around. “What? What for?”

“Just…” George worries at his lower lip. “Nevermind. Have a good day, Will.”

“Cheers,” Will says.

George is mechanical in his motions. He shuts the door. Locks it. Rests his head against the wood. Resists the urge to scream. 

“You’re an asshole.”

George whips around to see a very pissed-off looking Alex sitting up on the couch, the beach towel pooled at his waist. James is still asleep beside him. Alex has worn his own merch to sleep, the vain bastard. ‘Internet Sensation’ lays wrinkled across his chest. 

George clears his throat, trying to avoid this particular line of conversation. “I’ve got hot water going, if you want some tea.”

“Fuck you and your leaf water,” Alex spits, standing up. “You are so  _ infuriatingly  _ self-centered, George.”

“Cheers, mate.”

Alex is in George’s face now, his hair destroyed, his eyes narrowed in contempt. “I cannot believe you.”

“We’ve got chamomile, some herbal one, something that smells… flowery, I think… oh, I picked up that minty shite you like––”

“Bastard! You know he’s been in love with you for––”

“Here’s that ginger one James likes––”

“Fucking listen to me, George!” Alex shouts. 

George meets Alex’s gaze. He swallows, feeling small and cowardly. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do that?” Alex asks. 

“Do what?”

“Kiss him, if you had no intention of actually doing anything about it?”

“It was New Year’s Eve! It’s kind of what you do, Alex!” George protests.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. We all saw you snogging on the balcony,” Alex says.

“I was drunk!” George shouts.

“Not drunk enough to justify anything!” Alex shouts back. He stops then, and rubs his eyes. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve done, George.”

“I don’t think I do,” George retorts. “I am not gay, Alex. I kissed my mate, I was taking the piss, we’ll all move on in a few days.”

“It’s not that easy. Will’s been offering you his heart for months. Last night, you took it. And this morning, you boiled it in a kettle of  _ fucking tea _ !” Alex screams, one finger pointed at the offending kettle.

From the couch, James stirs. Opening one eye, he says groggily, “There’s tea?”

Alex sighs and rubs at his eyes again. “Yeah, George boiled some water. We’ve got that ginger one that tastes like piss, if you’d like.”

“Fuck yeah,” James grins, throwing the beach towel off his lap and bee-lining for the kettle. He’s wearing an alarmingly small pair of unicorn-patterned shorts that most certainly do not belong to him. George averts his gaze. 

“I’m really fucking mad at you,” Alex says through gritted teeth. “Which is incredibly difficult because there’s a man lying on the floor in our Annoying Orange costume, and I do not know who he is.”

“I don’t either,” George says. “Have your boyfriend evict him.”

“James is too cuddly to be threatening,” Alex mumbles. “I’ll wake up Fraser, he’ll be pissed enough at being woken up to yell at someone.”

George nods his approval and pours himself a cup of tea. In goes the English Breakfast bag, then a splash of milk and two sugars. James is humming happily beside him, stirring an obscene amount of honey into his ginger tea. 

George lifts his mug in a toast, “Cheers. I’m going to go think about what I’ve done, if it’ll please mummy Alex.”

“Piss off,” Alex bites out. “Actually go think about how you’re going to fix this, George. If I come in and find you playing Fifa or something, I will skin you!”

“Yes, mum!” George shouts over his shoulder as he makes his way into his room. 

As soon as he’s inside and the door is closed, George places his mug on his desk, leaving the tea forgotten. Instinctively, he makes for his bed. He’s tangled up in the cold sheets when his gut sinks. It smells like Will. Like herbal tea and that awful rainforest deodorant he won’t give up. That isn’t why his stomach takes a nosedive though–– the reason why he’s suddenly feels nauseous is because as soon as he realizes that his sheets smell like Will, he immediately feels at ease. Soothed, like his anxieties have melted away. 

And that comfort frightens him. He’s suddenly unsure if what he has done was the right thing to do. George isn’t gay, he’s  _ not _ , but something about Will feels… right.

Even though he’s a mess of fear and worry, George eventually falls asleep, surrounded by the scent of Will. 

He only wakes once, to Fraser screaming, “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU ON THE FUCKING FLOOR?”

***

Three months pass. 

George tries to fix things. He tries to act like nothing has happened, but he can’t. Whenever he hears Will’s voice, he winces like he’s been stung. Everything Will does reminds him of what happened. 

But they adapt. Will learns what George can’t handle. Painfully, they patch things over. Their friendship is restored, however tentatively.

After a month, Alex informs George that Will is over him. George says he doesn’t care. He is lying. He does. He really, really does. 

After two months, Will gets himself a girlfriend. Her name is Mia. George doesn’t want to like her, but he does. She’s lovely, and she clearly cares for Will. George pretends that the whole thing doesn’t make his stomach hurt. 

It’s been three months, and George still can’t think about New Year’s. Whenever he tries, he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

Will’s careful around George now, he doesn’t touch him at all if he doesn’t have to, he avoids eye-contact, his smiles are lackluster. George tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but he can’t even fool himself. He was the one who put this distance between them, he has to live with the consequences of that. 

They’re at a club. James, Alex, Mia, and Will are all dancing. George stands at the bar, sipping at something strong. Fraser fucked off with some bloke half an hour ago, so George is all alone.

He leans against the bar, observing. Alex is dancing like a spastic primary schooler, hopping about like the floor is on fire, and James is losing his shit over it. Will and Mia are pressed close, dancing together. Will’s behind Mia, and their hips move against each other like they’re putting on a show. The lights are low, but George can see how Will’s sweat has plastered his hair into weird spikes, how his eyes are pressed shut in concentration, how his hands grip Mia’s hips as they move together. 

And George knows that he shouldn’t be jealous, that he can’t be–– he’s straight, he is, but god… watching Will makes him feel anything but. He wants to be there, beside Will. He wants Will to touch him like he touches Mia–– his hand grabbing her elbow to get her attention, the proud way he grabs her shoulder when she’s done something brilliant, the way he taps his fingers on her knee when he’s anxious. The way he rolls his hips against the curve of her ass. 

He knows he’s fucked, he knows he’s messed everything up when he’s watching them dancing and thinks to himself, “ _ I wish he touched me like that _ .”

Because he knows that he isn’t nearly as straight as he’d like to believe. He knows that Will means more to him than the word “friend” can encapsulate. He knows that Will felt the same way, but George pushed him away. He knows he’s in love with Will, has been for ages, but couldn’t let himself see it. He knows that he destroyed the only chance he had.

He drops his glass. 

The nausea hits him like a punch in the gut, waves of unadulterated despair and guilt washing over him, drowning him. He doesn’t even blink when the glass shatters, doesn’t even move until Will runs over, eyebrows pulled together with concern.

“You dropped your glass, mate,” Will says, kneeling to pick up the shards of glass on the floor.

George blinks, “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Will says. He stands, holding a collections of glass fragments that catch the light like diamonds in his cupped hands. He carefully places the pile of glass on the bar top before turning to George. “You alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m brilliant. Just tired. I think I’m gonna go home.” George says. Bitterly, he adds, “Go back to your girlfriend.”

Will’s eyebrows draw together with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? I can take you back to your flat.”

George wants to melt into Will’s worrying, but he catches Mia’s gaze over Will’s shoulder. She looks worried too, like she wants to come over to check on him, and that hurts the most. That she’s so  _ good _ , that she’s with Will, that he isn’t her. He bites out, “I’m  _ fine _ , Will.”

He doesn’t sound fine, and Will recognizes it. “I wouldn’t mind––”

“I said, I’m  _ fine _ ––”

“I’ll take him.”

Alex appears next to Will, smiling placatingly. “I need to sleep, I have a merch meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Alex, are you sure––” Will starts, but Alex cuts him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. I mean, we live together, for fuck’s sake,” Alex laughs. “Plus, Mia’s waiting for you.” 

“What about James?” Will asks. 

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

From the crowd, James throws them a thumbs-up as if to confirm that he is, in fact, a big boy.

Will looks like he wants to protest further, but he gives in with a nod. “Okay, okay. See you later.”

Alex grabs George by the wrist and pulls him out of the club, and George can’t bring himself to protest. He casts a glance over his shoulder as they leave, spying Will as he returns to Mia on the dance floor. 

They’re outside when George mumbles, “I think I might vomit.”

“Not on me,” Alex says, unperturbed. “I just got these shoes.”

George nods. His dinner wins the fight, and he vomits onto the street. Alex wrinkles his nose. “Nasty. Are you sick?”

George wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, what’s wrong then?”

“I…” George pauses. “I think I like boys.”

“Okay,” Alex says mildly. He starts off walking again, and George hurries to keep up.

“No, Alex,” George says. “I… I think I  _ like-like  _ boys.”

“You sound like you’re in primary school!” Alex laughs.

“You don’t seem surprised!”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “You’re drunk, George. You have a habit of becoming homosexually inclined when you’re drunk.”

“You don’t believe me?” George asks.

“No,” Alex says. “Tell you what. If you feel the same way in the morning, I’ll throw you a coming-out party.”

“Well, that’s just unnecessary,” George says. “Unless there will be cake?”

“Of course there will be,” Alex replies. He stops then, and faces George. “Are you being serious?”

“Are you?” George asks. He sighs, suddenly bone-tired. “Because I think I deserve some fucking cake right now.”

“You’re gay?” Alex asks. His eyes go wide as he says it. “Fuck, George!”

“I mean,” George says. “I don’t think I’m  _ gay _ .”

“Well then, stop taking the piss!” Alex says.

“No, no––” George protests. “God, this is difficult. I mean… I think I like boys  _ in addition  _ to girls.”

Alex inspects him, eyes wide in shock. “Hell, you aren’t joking, are you?”

“No, I…” George sighs. “Will.” He says it like it explains everything, and it does.

Alex freezes. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck!” Alex repeats. “You can’t tell him.”

“What?”

“You can’t tell him. You really, really can’t tell him,” Alex says. “It took him so long to get over you, George. And he’s happy now, with Mia. You can’t tell him. You can’t. It’ll destroy him.”

George wants to cry. He wants to scream. Instead, he says, “I’m not that selfish, Alex.”

Alex sighs, and places a warm hand on George’s back. “I know, mate. Sorry.”

“Not your fault, is it?” George lets out a wry laugh. “You’re not the one who figured out that you’re in love with your best mate after you rejected him.”

Alex is quiet for a moment, then, “Do you… want a hug or something?”

“What?”

“When I came out,” Alex stops. He runs a hand through his hair, swallows, and then starts again. “When I came out, all I wanted was someone to hug me like I wasn’t a freak.”

“Oh,” George says. Listening to Alex, it hits him that this is it. This is him, coming out. It’s not something he ever envisioned for himself, not something he predicted. He thinks he might be crying, but he isn’t sure. 

“I’m going to give you a hug now, because you’re crying and it’s kind of freaking me out,” Alex says. “Is that okay?”

George nods, and then Alex is hugging him tightly in the middle of the night, in the middle of a London street and George can’t stop sobbing. He’s sure he’s getting snotty tears all over Alex, but Alex doesn’t seem to care. Alex has bony shoulders, and he’s clearly unsure how to proceed because his arms are stiff around George, but he’s here and he cares and that means everything. 

Eventually, George pulls back and mutters apologies that Alex swats away, and they walk back to their flat. 

Though George feels like the axis of his world has shifted direction, everything around him stays the same. It’s a nice evening, if a little cold. Alex is beside him, cracking jokes to distract George from his crisis. 

And it works, it does, until George pictures Will’s face. Will when George kissed him. Will when George brushed him off the next morning. Will, eyes creased in concern, when George dropped his glass. Will when he returned to Mia. 

And then he feels hollow.

* * *

George stays quiet. He doesn’t tell Will anything. He doesn’t tell anyone anything, except for Alex. Alex who whines about how he’s had to hear pining from both sides of the equation, Alex who laments that he deserves payment for all his therapizing, Alex who jokes that he should have gone to uni to make a career out of this natural calling of his. George feels guilty for unloading all his emotions onto Alex, but it isn’t like it’s unreciprocated. Alex whines about his relationship with James to no end, so they balance out. They’re just to hopeless fools in love, the only difference is that Alex’s feelings are reciprocated. 

George throws himself into his work, dropping videos daily. He’s stopped doing face cams because of the comments he receives about his prominent eye bags–– he doesn’t sleep well anymore and it shows. 

Will notices that something is wrong immediately, but George tells him nothing. He blames minor inconveniences or his lack of sleep for his irritable mood. He can’t be around Mia and Will together anymore or he’ll turn bitter and say things he doesn’t mean, so he keeps his distance.

Will and Mia are getting serious. They’re talking about moving in together. 

Will’s so happy. So fucking happy. 

Somehow, George manages to conceal how he feels about the situation, how it feels like someone has reached into his chest and squeezed his heart so hard that it popped, leaving bloody remains to gather at the bottom of his ribcage. 

Still, George carries on. 

Alex helps him buy melatonin so his sleep will return to normal. He starts making videos with his face again when his dark circles fade. He starts making videos with his friends again, with Alex and Will and James and Fraser. He starts cracking jokes again, ones that don’t feel forced. He feels like he’s evolving, maybe. Bearing pain and heartache to reach some final self. 

He’s trying now, experimenting. With the idea of being bi, with coming to terms with it. He tries his best not to envision every man he watches in porn as Will. But with two fingers up his ass and a hand wrapped tight around his cock, the name that falls from his lips as he comes is one he recognizes. He tries to pretend that his world isn’t ending when he whispers Will’s name as he spills over his fist. He tries to pretend that it was an accident. His skin itches. He speaks fear fluently now. He bottles up the moment, how right it felt to come with the image of Will above him, and lock it away. It doesn’t work.

Alex knocks on his door one night. It’s an innocuous Thursday evening, innocent in its inherent Thursday-ness. George is finishing up editing a video.

“We’re going out,” Alex states. He looks George over and frowns. “You’re going to put on some trousers, and then we’re going out.”

“Oh goodness, a date?” George deadpans. “Am I your mistress now, Alex?”

“Ew.” Alex wrinkles his nose.

“Harsh.”

“James is coming too,” Alex says.

“Will… uh… will Will be…” George stutters out. He feels like a primary schooler. He feels absurd. 

Alex shakes his head decisively. “Nope. Just you, me, and James. We’re having a boys night.”

“Why’s Will not invited then? And Fraser?”

“Will has a girlfriend, and Fraser’s too much for me to handle tonight,” Alex says.

“Where are we going, Alex?” George asks, suspicion edging into his tone.

“Gay club,” Alex says. “I’m tired of watching you mope. Reality is a bitch, George. But the reality is that Will has a girlfriend, and you massacred your best chance.”

“Real nice, Alex,” George says, wincing. 

“ _ So _ ,” Alex says. “I insist we get you laid. Or something close to that. I can’t bear to listen to your lonely wanks anymore.”

“My walls are sound-proofed, asshole.”

“But you aren’t denying it!”

George shoots Alex a glare, but keeps his mouth shut. 

“You’ve gotta get out there sometime, George,” Alex says. He sounds almost sad. “Let me help you, just a bit. If it goes horribly, you’ll get the glory of saying, ‘I told you so’.”

“And?”

“And free reign over my Twitter for an hour,” Alex sighs. “Why do I always have to bribe you into letting me do nice things for you?”

George grins. It feels genuine in a way most things haven’t in these last couple of months. “Alright, Alex. I’m in.”

* * *

He regrets it immediately. 

Alex and James talk him somewhere on the outskirts of central London where the music is loud and the people are louder. Inside the club, the lights are dim and purple, casting everyone in an ominous glow. Everyone there looks entirely themselves, decked out in feather boas or flashy pinstripe suits. James and Alex are having a blast, grinding and giggling together. The last time George glanced over, they were having a Fortnite-style dance-off.

George tries not to be jealous of their relationship, but he finds it difficult. They’re so happy together, blissed-out. Alex described it once, saying, “Everyone in the world is bat-shit crazy. I’ve found someone crazier than me, and I’m not going to let him go.” George remembers the he mimed vomiting after that speech, but secretly, something inside screamed that he could have had that. The perfect, most complementary relationship with his best friend. Sure, Alex and James fought. They were only human. But by watching them work things out, hearing the aftermath of said working-things-out, although a little scarring ( _ how could Alex even make that noise? _ ), only made him long for a relationship like that even more.

He wants what Alex has. And he wants it with Will.

Sighing, George pushes past a gaggle of drag queens to reach the bar. He slumps into a barstool and takes a moment to drop his head to the counter, resting. 

“Rough night?” A voice asks.

George lifts his head and meets the gaze of a man. He’s beautiful, with slate-gray eyes and a cocky grin. His jaw is cut into right angles, and he’s wearing a rumpled business suit. He’s maybe a year or two older than George. 

George is too tired to tell the guy to fuck off and leave him in peace, so he responds with a noncommittal, “Yeah.”

“Shame,” The man says. “Can I get you something to drink?”

George is not in the habit of turning down free alcohol. “Vodka tonic.”

The man grins and waves down the bartender. “Two vodka tonics, please.”

“Thank you…” George trails off.

“Toby,” The man supplies. “My name’s Toby.”

“Thank you, Toby.”

“At the risk of sounding cliché, do you come here often?” Toby asks.

“Nah,” George says. “First time, actually.”

The bartender arrives with the drinks, and Toby slides one over to George. “Well, cheers then,” He lifts his glass in a toast, which George reciprocates. “To popping your gay bar virginity.”

“How do you know this is my first gay bar? Just because I haven’t been here before doesn’t me I haven’t been to others. There are a shit ton of gay bars in London,” George says.

“My mistake,” Toby smiles, and it’s disarming. “Have you been to others?”

“Well… no.”

Toby lets out a laugh. It’s a nice laugh, easy and well-rounded. George decides that this must be his type–– boys with sharp jaws and easy laughs. “Then my toast still applies.”

They clink their glasses together, and then sip. The burn of alcohol traces a warm path to George’s stomach, and it’s comforting.

“I forgot to ask,” Toby says. “You are…”

“Oh! Bi, I guess,” George says. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud to someone other than Alex, and it feels right, somehow. He thinks he likes that.

Toby laughs, “I meant your name.”

Mortified, George ducks his head. “Right… my name’s Will.”

He doesn’t know why he says that, why he lies. The name is instinctual, it’s a gut-punch, he’s wounded by it and he’s bitter. Something twists in his stomach. God, he wants to kiss Will. He wants to hold Will in early morning sunlight and brush the hair out of his eyes. He wants so much that he can’t have.

Toby is here though. He’s attractive and witty, and clearly interested. 

Alex’s words float to the top of his mind.  _ Reality is a bitch _ .

The reality is Will is gone and it is George’s fault, but Toby is here. He’s now. 

“I’m bored,” George says. He downs the rest of his drink and turns to face Toby. “Wanna makeout in a corner for a bit?”

Toby blinks, confused. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Toby is tripping over himself now, exposing how eager he is. It makes George feels powerful. “Oh, yes, okay. Let’s do that.”

Toby tosses a few bills onto the counter for the drinks before George gets impatient and grabs his hand, pulling his through the throng of dancers towards the nearest wall. On his way, he catches sight of James and Alex dancing, and they flash him twin thumbs-ups. 

The wall is gritty and crusted in dirt, but George leans against it anyway, threading his arms around Toby’s neck. 

Toby is flushed red. “So, I just…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t kissed in a club before,” George smiles. He likes the power he has like this, how he can be the sultry one in this situation. Approaching girls in the past required a lot of false courage and cockiness. Here, he feels almost… sexy.

Toby laughs nervously. “It’s not that… I’ve never been propositioned so suddenly before.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” George smiles. He really doesn’t. Miracle that he got a B in English, really.

“That’s fine,” Toby says, getting closer. His hands find George’s hips, and the pads of his fingers press into George’s skin. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Toby does. He presses his lips softly against George’s at first, but quickly decides to shove his tongue into George’s mouth, much to George’s surprise. Toby is not a good kisser. He’s too enthusiastic, has too many ideas, jumping from one tongue trick to the next like a spastic circus performer. George has to fight to keep up with it all, though he feels like it’s empty bells and whistles. Fancy tricks with no pay off. Eventually he has to pull back as he feels like he’s being slobbered on by a dog, and Toby, ever the enthusiast, starts to suck bruises on his neck. 

This is not going as George wanted it to. Here he is with an attractive, funny, and charming man, and he’s bored. Worse than that, he’s disgusted. A man is attached leech-like to his neck. He remembers kissing Will, and how perfect that had been, and how imperfect this experience is, and his stomach drops. He squirms, trying to convince himself that this is right, but something inside him insists that something is dreadfully wrong. 

The final straw comes when Toby drops a kiss to his pulse point and moans a small, “ _ Will _ .”

George grabs Toby by the shoulders and forces him back. “What did you just say?”

“Your name?” Toby says, confused. He notices then that George is freaking out. “Will, are you alright––”

“I can’t do this,” George says, releasing Toby and stepping away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

“Did I do something wrong––”

“No, I’m…” Tears are pricking in George’s eyes now. He hates himself a little for starting to cry, but still tears roll down his cheeks. 

“Will? Are you… crying?” Toby reaches out a tentative hand, but George shifts away.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrap around George’s shoulders. There’s chipped black nail polish on their fingernails–– James. “You alright, George?” James asks, voice gruff and booming. He’s clearly trying to intimidate Toby.

Toby blinks in surprise. “George?”

Alex is there next to George now, an accusatory finger pointed at Toby’s face. “What did you do to him?”

Toby raises his hands in the universal sign for  _ surrender _ . “I didn’t do anything to him!”

“Then why is he crying?!”

“He didn’t,” George sniffs, rubbing at his eyes. He feels like a child, having his parents sweep in to save the day. James rests his chin on the top of George’s head comfortingly. “He didn’t do anything...”

“Then why are you crying, George?” Alex asks.

“He told me his name was Will,” Toby mutters, toeing at the ground.

Alex exhales, letting out a small, “Oh”. 

For once, James is the voice of reason. “Okay, we’re going to go now. C’mon Alex, George.”

James keeps a protective arm wrapped around George’s shoulders, and Alex wraps an arm around his waist. Before they leave, George mutters a small apology that Toby waves off. His eyes are already searching the crowd for someone else to pounce on. 

They’re outside in air clear of glitter and sweat when James looks at George and his eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit!”

“What?” George asks, confused. 

“You look like you’ve been attacked!”

“It was consensual––”

“I meant your neck!” James exclaimed, pointing. “You’re covered in hickeys!”

“What?!” George pulls out his phone and opens his front face camera, and sure enough, his neck is speckled with dark purple bruises. “Fuck!”

“He really did a number on you…” Alex observes, cocking his head to get a better view of the damage.

George raises his shoulders instinctively. “Fucker wouldn’t stop biting me!”

“Guess you’ll being doing game plays until those fade,” James chuckles.

George’s blood turns icy. “I have a face cam with Will tomorrow.”

James and Alex stop in their tracks. “What?” 

“I have a face cam video with Will to film tomorrow,” George says. “I already talked about it on Twitter. Fuck!”

“That’s rough, mate,” Alex says mildly.

“You don’t seem too concerned!” George squeaks, hands balled at his sides. He isn’t angry, he’s feeling an odd cocktail of confused and frightened. 

“I’m not worried,” Alex says. “You’re allowed to live your life, George. Your audience knows that.”

“My audience isn’t who I’m worried about,” George says. “What if… what if Will asks about them?”

James shrugs. “Tell him the truth.”

“What? I can’t do that!” 

“Why not? He’s going to figure out that you aren’t picky with genitalia sometime,” James says. “Here’s a chance for you to do it on your own terms.”

“Besides, you don’t even know if he’ll notice,” Alex pauses, inspecting George again. “Okay, he’ll probably notice, but that’s okay!”

George groans and drops his head into his hands. “This is awful.”

“A little bit,” James chirps. “Now let’s skip to the tube. I want to know if I can still skip.”

James has them skip like they’re schoolgirls. It’s a little lovely, a little absurd. It helps to even George’s heart rate, but concern still picks at the back of his brain. 

* * *

Will is chronically late, but this time he’s on time. Sort of.

George wanted to start filming at 2, so he told Will to come over at 1. He’s there by 2:30, beaming brightly. Purple crescents are tucked neatly under his eyes. 

“Georgie boy!” Will shouts as he enters the flat. Immediately he toes off his shoes, not bothering to untie them. “It’s a glorious day!”

“Have you been sleeping?” George asks, raising to his tip-toes so he can get a better look at Will.

Will’s expression falters and he shrugs. “Uh… not much. Not enough.”

“Are you… are you okay?” George asks.

“Not really,” Will runs a hand through his hair, spiking it up before placing his cap back on. “Mia and I… we’ve been having some problems.”

George hates himself for the spark of joy that ignites in his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping it’ll work itself out.”

George swallows, knowing he’s pushing his luck, but he says, “Can I ask what happened?”

Will shifts, looking uncomfortable. George wants to eat his words as he watches Will crumble in on himself. “Just… baggage, you know? Past coming back to haunt you stuff.”

George has no idea what Will is talking about, but he nods anyway. “Sure. Want some tea before we get started? We’ve still got that herbal one you like.”

Will smiles then, bright and brilliant like a star, and George feels his heart stutter. “Hell fucking yes.”

“I had the kettle going an hour and a half ago, so you’ll have to warm it up again,” George says, making his way into the kitchen, Will following him. George leans against the fridge, the cool metal pressing into his spine. He watches as Will goes through the motions that accompany tea preparation: turning on the electric kettle, arranging his honey and tea bag on the counter, selecting a mug. Will’s fingers are thin and nimble, and he traces the lip of his mug as he waits for the water to boil again. George thinks that there’s something captivating about the swirling motion Will’s finger makes as it follows the path the mug provides. Something lovely and sensual. He forces himself to look away, instead focusing on his socks. They’re blue. Kind of scratchy. Not his favorite pair.

“So, who is it then?” Will asks, suddenly. George, confused, looks up to find Will staring pointedly at the water in the kettle as it takes on bubbles. 

“Who’s who?”

“The bird who gave you all the hickeys,” Will says. His voice is measured, even, contained and controlled. Fake nonchalance. “Who is she?”

George can’t contain the panicked laugh that escapes him. At the harsh noise, Will looks up in surprise. “What? Do I know her or something?” His eyebrows shoot up. “You aren’t fucking Gee, are you?”

George shakes his head frantically. “No! God, no, absolutely not!”

“Who is it then?”

“You don’t know him.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Will looks as if George has sucker-punched him. “Him?” He says, carefully.

The metal of the fridge is ice against his back. George doesn’t trust his own voice, so he just nods.

Will opens his mouth to speak, swallows, then tries again. “So you’re… you’re gay, or––”

“Bi,” George interrupts. “I think. It’s what fits the best, but I haven’t done a ton of research yet.”

“So, you like boys,” Will prompts.

“Sometimes. Some boys,” George says. He watches as this information plays across Will’s face. “More often girls, but sometimes boys.”

“And this boy,” Will reaches for the kettle, where the water has begun to boil. He pours the hot water over his tea bag, staining the liquid a rich brown color. “You like him?”

“What? No. Alex and James took me clubbing, I met a guy I’ll never see again and he gave me these,” George says, gesturing to his neck. “Nothing more.”

The line of Will’s shoulders relax. Muffled by the tea at his lips, Will mutters, “Good.”

George’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Good?”

Will looks into his tea, darkness glazing his expression. “Boys can be dicks.”

George knows that Will is talking about him. Will’s words create knots in his stomach. George licks his lips and says, “Yeah. They can be.”

It’s a cowardly comment, adjacent to an apology without getting there. George feels small.

They film the video. During the intro, Will attempts to spin on his chair and ends up falling and flapping about like a beached fish on George’s lap. George tries to memorize the feeling of Will’s shoulder blades pressed against his thighs, Will’s carefree smile aimed up at him. Something in the pit of George’s stomach fizzes. 

After they film, they marathon an old Love Island season, curled on Alex and George’s grubby couch. Will is rooting for the crazy stalker and florist couple, just to piss George off. Each time Will says something stupid, George chucks a popcorn kernel at his head. After the third time, Will started trying to catch the popcorn in his mouth. Every time he catches a piece, he grins like a little kid and it makes George’s heart swell. They’re falling back into their old pattern, pining and preening, cracking jokes and tossing popcorn at the Love Island contestants. 

At the end of the fifth episode, Will gets a call. He goes into the kitchen and faces the fridge, talking quietly and urgently into the phone. He sounds frustrated. George watches the tension build in Will’s shoulders. 

Will ends the call and shuffles over to the couch, rubbing at his eyes. George offers him a corner of the blanket he has draped over him. “Everything okay, Will?”

Will pulls the blanket around himself, taking more than his fair share, and George is going to mention it until he spots Will’s face. “Could I stay here tonight?” Will asks.

George blinks in shock. “I mean… of course you can.”

Will slumps against the arm of the couch, drained. “Thank you.”

“Something’s wrong,” George ventures. “You don’t have to tell me what it is. But... was that Mia?”

Will sets his mouth into a firm line. “Yeah. She wanted to know where I was. I told her. She’s… not happy.”

George asks, quietly, “Why?”

“She…” Will swallows, runs a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t think that I’m over you.”

George is a rock, George is fortress, George is  _ freaking the fuck out _ . “What?!”

Will eyes him sourly. “You heard me, ya tit. She doesn’t like that we’re hanging out because she thinks I’m not over you.”

George’s palms are clammy, pressed hard against his thighs as he tries to keep himself intact. “Are… are you?”

Will raises an eyebrow. It’s a challenge, but also an acceptance of defeat–– George can see that Will believes George has never and will never feel the same way as he does. Did? 

“Does it even matter?” Will asks. 

“It matters to me,” George says, the words escaping his lips before he can help himself. 

“Don’t say that,” Will says, his face stony. “Really. You don’t have to say that.” 

“I’m not saying it to make you feel better,” George says. “I’m saying it because it’s true. It matters. It’s the only thing that matters.”

Will’s jaw works for a moment before he forces out his words. He’s clearly operating on adrenaline and confusion at this point. “You’re not supposed to care, George. You can’t… you  _ can’t  _ care.”

George sees Alex’s face then, hears him insist,  _ “You can’t tell him. You can’t. It’ll destroy him.” _ , feels his heart twisting. Will is  _ happy _ . Sure, he and Mia are having problems, but they’re together and she’s good for him. George can’t destroy, can’t desecrate Will’s hope, his happiness again. He can’t be selfish. He wants so badly to be selfish. 

“I care about you, Will,” George says. He braces himself, feels himself fray at the edges when he continues, “You’re my friend.”

Will’s jaw tightens. He nods. “Right.”

Will shifts away from George on the couch, pressing his back against the arm rest and bringing his knees to his chest, like he’s trying to protect himself. Trying to protect himself from George. George, who keeps hurting the person who he cares for the most, all with the hope of keeping him happy. George who feels like he’s imploding. George who says, “Next episode, mate?” instead of “I love you.”.

* * *

They watch three more episodes before Will passes out. George spends the credits watching Will sleep, then abruptly stops when he realizes how much of a creep he’s being.

But Will is different when he sleeps. Closer to the person he was before George broke his heart. His face is softer, more open. The crease between his eyebrows disappears. George misses this version of Will. A Will who knew who he was, what he was doing, what his ambitions were, and which ones of those ambitions were achievable. Then George had to go and ruin everything.

George observes Will breathing for a moment, watches how his exhales shift the blanket. 

George stands, wraps the blanket fully around Will, and heads off to bed, hating himself. 

* * *

Four days later, Mia and Will break up. 

Alex tells George, shows him the screenshots which Will had sent him. 

_ 9:23 _

_ Mia: _

_ I really care about you _

_ but this isn’t working _

_ 9:27 _

_ Will: _

_ I know _

_ I’m sorry _

_ 9:31 _

_ Mia: _

_ It isn’t your fault _

_ We can’t control our emotions _

_ I hope you find who you’re looking for _

_ 9:34 _

_ Will: _

_ I hope you do too _

__

Everything is shattering.

George feels like his skin is on fire. Every time he sees Will, dark circles accentuated, Will won’t talk to him. 

* * * 

Three days later. It’s 12:47 at night and George has just finished editing a video when he hears a knock at the front door. 

George is in pajamas; Annoying Orange pajama pants are slung low on his hips and he’s wearing his Heskey tank top. He stays true to his brand.

George goes to scream for Alex to open the door, but remembers that he’s at James and Fraser’s. Begrudgingly, he answers the door to find Will drunk off his ass, a bottle of vodka limp between his fingers. “Will? What are you––”

“Didn’t wanna drink alone again,” Will says, words blurring together. He lifts the bottle, a silent offer. “Let us in, yeah?”

George takes the bottle from him, regards it for a moment, and takes a hearty sip. “C’mon in. Alex isn’t here though, and I know he’s better with the feelings-stuff––”

Will cuts him off. “Nah, wanted to see you.”

George tamps down the dangerous shade of pleased he feels. He takes another swig from the bottle before offering it to Will, who has splayed himself out on the couch. The scene reminds him of their earlier movie night, Will fast asleep, eyelashes sweeping his sharp cheekbones with every breath. Will takes the bottle.

“So,” George asks, “What are we drinking to?”

“Endings!” Will shouts, grandiose, arms flailing about. “But also beginnings!”

“Sounds heavy,” George says. He’s standing above Will, unsure of where he’s supposed to place himself in relation to Will’s tangle of limbs on his couch. 

Will taps his nose. “Right you are, George,” He says. “Awful, heavy things.”

“How drunk are you, Will?” George asks.

“Mmm,” Will mutters. “Not all drunk. Maybe half drunk,” He motions toward his waist and then downwards in a sweeping motion. “Drunk from there down.”

“Let’s slow down, then,” George says, taking back the bottle. He winces. “God, I sound like Alex.”

Will laughs at that, big and boisterous in a way that George has missed so much, then his face drops. “I miss her,” He mumbles. 

George doesn’t know how to respond, so he sits on the floor next to the couch, watching Will’s profile.

“I miss her,” Will says again.

George doesn’t trust his own voice, so he croaks out, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will says. “But… not how I’m supposed to.”

George finds that he’s taken Will’s hand and is squeezing it comfortingly. He doesn’t remember doing that, but it feels right. “That’s okay.”

Will stares at the place where George is touching him, almost in wonder. He looks away. “Maybe she was right.”

George’s heart is a thunderstorm in his chest. “You’re drunk, Will.”

“I am,” Will agrees, letting go of George’s hand. He brings his hands up to his face and rubs at his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t true.”

“Will…” George murmurs. He’s watching Will’s pulsepoint, watching heat rise up his neck and stain him red.

“I keep looking at you and thinking…” Will whispers. “Thinking…”

“Slow down, mate,” George chuckles. “Thinking is dangerous.”

“Maybe,” Will says, then, “I… I keep looking over at you and thinking about that guy,  _ Toby _ , and thinking  _ why not me _ ?”

“What?” George’s blood turns to ice.

“Why not me, George?” Will asks, voice brutal and raw. “Why not me?”

“You had a girlfriend,” George admits. From here, George can smell the alcohol on Will’s breath. “And you’re drunk.”

Will laughs bitterly. “Yes. Are you?” He catalogues George’s expression and shakes his head. “No. Not drunk enough. Not New Year’s drunk. Not mistake drunk.”

Will is a bird, broken wings spread across the couch cushions, screaming static at the ceiling.

“New Year’s wasn’t a mistake, not to me,” George whispers, mostly to himself. He doesn’t know if Will hears him, and he doesn’t think it will matter. Will is drunk off his ass, he won’t remember anything in the morning. “Drink some water and try to get some sleep, okay?” He holds the vodka bottle up. “I’m taking this with me.”

“Mmm, goodnight George,” Will says. He pulls the same blanket over himself that they used for their movie night. The parallel strikes George as he walks to bed and tucks the vodka into his bedside table drawer. 

He doesn’t sleep for hours, just stares at the ceiling. 

* * * 

Will is awake before George the next morning.

From his bed, George can hear Will moving about the kitchen, knocking together mugs in a hungover haze. There’s something delightfully domestic about the noise, something that makes George shiver.

He’s out of bed and in the kitchen before he realizes, watching Will as he makes himself tea. As George watches, Will places a mug down for George and starts making a cup for him. George can feel himself melting. 

“How are you not dying?” George asks, moving towards Will.

Will turns around with a grin. “I can hold my liquor, thank you very much.”

“Not, you can’t,” George says. “You were drunk off your ass last night.”

“Yeah,” Will admits sheepishly. “Got carried away. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I’m not WillNE’s carer for nothing,” George laughs.

Will offers him a mug of tea. It’s exactly how he likes it. 

“Do you… do you remember anything from last night?” George asks. 

The corners of Will’s mouth turned down in a frown, and he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Fuck, you remember.”

“I wasn’t nearly as drunk as you, mate,” George says. It’s quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry about that,” Will says. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t… I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to––”

Will’s looking so nervous, he’s all angles, all tense and brittle like he might break. He looks afraid, like he thinks George is going to snap at him, shun him, do something worse. 

George can feel himself getting closer to Will, until they’re almost toe-to-toe. “I don’t regret it.”

Will freezes. “What?”

“New Year’s,” George says. “I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it at all.”

And then Will is pulling back, curling in on himself. “Don’t–– Don’t do that, George.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me,” Will bites out, heat rising to his cheeks. “I don’t want you to lie to me. I don’t need you to pretend that you’re interested so I’ll feel better. Do you know how pathetic that makes me feel?”

“What? That’s not what I––”

“You don’t understand how hard it is, trying to stop loving you––”

And that’s what does it. That word,  _ love _ , is what breaks George. He kisses Will.

It’s soft, more a whisper of a kiss than anything else. Will’s lips are chapped against George’s. 

And then Will is kissing him back like he can’t help himself, like it’s easier than breathing, like it’s inevitable. It’s not an innocent kiss anymore, it’s brutal and passionate. George is kissing like Will is water and he hasn’t had a sip for an eternity. Will is kissing like he thinks that if he stops, everything will crumble, like he’s convincing himself that this is reality. George licks into the heat of Will’s mouth, pressing closer to him, craving more before Will rips away.

“Stop!” Will yells, pushing George back. 

Immediately, George regrets everything. Regrets waking up in the morning, regrets moving in with Alex, a few floors under Will, regrets watching a video of Will’s for the first time and sending him a message via Twitter––  _ you’re funny mate, d’ya live in London? _

“Shit, did I do something?” George asks, panicking. “Are you okay? I’m sorry––”

“Stop!” Will shouts again. “You don’t get to keep doing this, George!”

“What?”

“Every goddamn time I think I’m getting over you, you pull some shit like this!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about––”

Will looks like someone’s lit him on fire, he’s jumpy and angry and his eyes glow like hot coals. “New Year’s? The way you looked at me at that club, the night you dropped your glass.  _ Toby _ ––”

George recoils. “Toby had nothing to do with you!”

“You’re saying he wasn’t to make me jealous? Or, who knows, maybe he wasn’t even real and you just attacked yourself with a hoover––”

“The fuck are you talking about––”

“Or maybe you got Alex and James to give you a hand––”

“Enough!” George screams. “I’m allowed to go out, Will. I’m allowed to kiss a bloke. Hell, I’m allowed to let him fuck me if I damn well want to. You had a girlfriend! You had Mia! I’m sure as hell not going to apologize for trying to find someone myself!”

Will blinks at George, then laughs. It’s bitter and cold, unlike the laughter from Will that George is used to. “I can’t believe you.”

George doesn’t know how to respond. He’s rooted to the kitchen tile, hands clutched helplessly around a mug of cooling tea. 

“Mia. She knew, you know? That I was in love with you, even though I tried so hard not to be. She said she’d give it a try anyway,” Will says. “But it wouldn’t work. It couldn’t. We both knew that.”

Will’s eyes are sad, resigned as he recounts this. George wants to curl in on himself like a burning leaf. 

“I’m in love with you,” George says. He means it. Will’s eyes shutter.

“I don’t believe you,” Will states. George can see that he really doesn’t, despite wanting to. He looks pained. “I don’t believe you,” He repeats. “Because you do this, George. Maybe not the club. Maybe not Toby. But the kiss on New Year’s? You knew I was in love with you, and you kissed me anyway. And then you broke me.”

George’s heart is crawling into his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t speak, can only watch his world reduce to ash. 

“You can’t just pretend you’re interested in me whenever you’re lonely, George,” Will says. “Or when you’re afraid that something is breaking. It isn’t fair to me.” 

Will is moving toward the door now, his tea forgotten on the counter. George wants to stop him, but he doesn’t know how. He feels like he’s been cast in cement. 

“You’re saying you love me, George,” Will says. “ But I don’t believe you. I can’t.”

And then he’s gone, nothing left of him besides a mug of cold tea on the counter and a half-empty bottle of vodka in George’s bedside table. 

George doesn’t move for what seems like hours. When he finally does, he looks to the clock to find that only minutes have passed.

Numb, he moves to his room and beelines for the bedside table. Alone, he drains the bottle. Alone, he sobs into his pillow.

George calls Will seven times, but he doesn’t answer.

After the eighth drunk voicemail, George decides to call Alex.

Alex’s voice is crackly with static. “George?”

Alex’s voice is a beacon, a light, and it takes George a moment to answer. “I… I f-f-fucked up, Alex.”

“Oh, buddy. Did you mix up the vinegar and the gin again? The bottles look completely different,” Alex says. “And I told you to label them so you wouldn’t get confused…”

“No,” George sputters. “Not that. I… Will.”

“Oh no,” Alex says. “Fuck. Okay. Should I bring James?”

“I’m James,” James adds helpfully, voice quiet and crackly through the phone.

“Does James have v-vodka? I finished my bottle,” George says.

“Oh lord,” Alex answers. “Okay. We’ll be up in a second.”

James did not bring up vodka. He brought up Paracetamol. “Take one,” James says. “So you’re not completely dead in the morning. And drink all of this.” He holds out the pills and a glass of water. 

“What’s happened?” Alex asks. He’s perched on the edge of George’s bed, stroking his hair comfortingly. 

“I…” George stutters, trying to form words. “I told Will that I loved him.”

Alex’s hand stills. “What?”

“I told him I loved him, but he said he didn’t believe me,” George cried, pressing his face into his pillow, trying to hide his tears. 

“Fuck,” Alex muttered. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know!”

Alex stays with George as he cries, while James goes into the kitchen, calling to see if anyone knows where Will is.

Fraser and Gee say they have no idea. Mia doesn’t know. “George should’ve stopped being a massive pussy earlier, maybe this whole mess wouldn't have happened,” Stephen says. Then, grudgingly, “I’ll make some calls, make sure he’s safe.”

They find Will, eventually, but no one will tell George where he is.

“He doesn’t want you to know, mate,” Alex explains, awkwardly. “And it’s not my secret to tell.”

George’s heart is shattered, glass fragments lying at the bottom of his ribcage. 

* * *

A month passes. Neither Will nor George post anything during that time. Not to YouTube, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, nothing. They’re quiet.

Alex has to reassure the fans that they aren’t dead–– he says they’re taking a social media cleanse. No one believes it, it’s too hippie for them, especially considering they make a living online. The stans go wild, trying to decode the remaining commentary crew members’ content for any clues as to what has happened. No one gets close, except for one girl from Newark with a profile picture of a cat smoking a cigar. No one listens to her, of course. 

George texts Will incessantly, but Will never answers.

_ 2:31 _

_ George: _

_ everything is darker when ur not here _

_ probably bc I haven’t turned on a light in ages _

_ 2:33 _

_ George: _

_ I wish I knew where u were so I could apologize _

_ or at least explain myself _

_ 2:35 _

_ George: _

_ I miss you _

_ 2:42  _

_ George: _

_ I love you so much it feels like I’m breaking _

_ 2:43  _

_ George: _

_ I sound like a right creep _

_ 2:51 _

_ George: _

_ I have no idea how to prove to you how much I love you _

_ but christ will _

_ I love you so much _

_ 2:55 _

_ George: _

_ I should be asleep _

_ 2:57 _

_ George: _

_ I hope ur doing ok wherever you r _

_ I’m right useless rn _

_ alex and james have been bringing me food _

_ I haven’t been able to get out of bed _

_ even fraser’s helping _

_ he spent an hour yesterday pelting cheerios at my head and calling me pathetic _

_ so _

_ “helping” _

_ 2:58 _

_ George: _

_ alex gave me some melatonin so I’m going to sleep now _

_ I love you _

_ I wish you knew how much I mean that _

* * *

“George? What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t think that this was a good idea. Probably because it isn’t. Probably because it is objectively a terrible idea.

“I…”

“George?”

“Sorry. I, uh… I need your help,” George says. “Please.”

Mia surveys George in his wrecked state, eyes full of pity. He looks a mess and he knows it.

She purses her pretty lips. “Sure thing, hun. Pop your shoes off when you come inside, ‘kay?”

She’s so lovely it hurts. George takes off his shoes as he enters, loathing himself, knowing that Will deserves someone this good.

Twenty minutes later, Mia has gotten George into the shower, into new clothes (borrowed–– embarrassingly, they’re about the same size), and has him sat on her couch, sipping touch and munching biscuits. In twenty minutes, she’s done better than any of George’s friends have in weeks.

“So,” Mia starts over the lips of her mug. She’s drinking bitter black coffee, which is completely at odds with what George expected from her. “What’s wrong, love?”

Something about how soft she is makes George want to cry. Her flat smells like lavender. George plucks at the seam of the joggers Mia lent him. He thinks they may be a pair of Will’s that Mia stole when they were dating. 

“I’m in love with Will,” George hears himself say. 

Mia hums. “I know.”

“What?” 

“I know you’re in love with him,” She says. “I’ve always known. It’s all in the eyes. You look at him the same way he looks at you.” She sounds sad, resigned. “I guess I just hoped…” 

“I know,” George says. “I know.”

She swallows and shakes off her stupor. “It’s for the best. Now we can both find people who will be able to love us,” she chuckles. “Christ, I sound like my mum.”

“I don’t know about your mum, but you sure sound like mine,” George says, trying a smile. It feels wrong.

Mia chuckles and takes a sip of her coffee. George tries his tea. It’s absurdly perfect, like nothing he’s tasted before. Whenever Will makes him tea, the leaves always turn burnt and bitter. What George would give for bitter tea now.

“How can I help you, George?” Mia asks. “I’m sure you didn’t come to confess you feelings for my ex-boyfriend and eat all my biscuits.”

George pauses, hand hovering guiltily over the rapidly dwindling supply of biscuits. “S-sorry.”

Mia waves away the apology. “No, that came out harsher than I meant. I just wanted to know how I can help you out.”

“You… want to help me? Why?” George asks.

“I care about Will,” Mia says. Her eyes reveal how much she means it. “I want him to be happy. And I know he loves you, so if you’re serious about him…’

“Mia, no offense, but I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, would I?” George laughs.“I just… I don’t know how to fix this. And I really, really have to fix this.”

Mia nods. “I can tell you where he is, if that helps,” she says. “I know Will doesn’t want to see you yet, but you’ll have to face each other at some point.”

“That’d be– that’s be brilliant,” George says. “I think I… I need to do some things before then. Some thinkin’.” 

“That’s fair,” Mia says. “Maybe apologies would be a good idea. I always find apologies are cathartic.”

She tells him where Will is. He writes down the address on an old Tesco receipt.

Before he leaves, Mia smiles and tells him to visit again soon. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” she says. “And if you don’t return those joggers, I’ll murder you dead.”

“Bit redundant, that,” George mutters, closing the door behind him. 

* * *

Before he goes to Will, he forces himself to breathe. Alex told him that counting your breaths helped with coping.

He counts seven breaths.

  1. Alex



“Sorry for being so fuckin’ annoying about Will all the time,” George says. “I’m sure you didn’t want to adopt a whiny kid when you moved in with me.”

He gives Alex a bouquet of flowers, because he isn’t sure what else to get him. They’re peonies, which George remembers are his mother’s favorite. Admittedly, they are the only flower name he does remember, so when the lady at the flower shop asks him what he wants in the bouquet, he panics and shouts, “Peonies!”, and that’s what he gets. 

Alex makes fun of George for it, but the flowers go on their counter, right where everyone can see them. A place of pride.

“I can’t believe you got me  _ flowers _ ,” Alex laughs. “I can’t wait to see what you get me for Mother’s Day!”

“Fuck off, Alex!”

  1. James



George gives James the most expensive bottle of vodka that he can reasonably afford. James looks at him like he’s hung the moon.

“Oh, this is bloody good shit, this is,” James grins, inspecting the label.

James assures him that they will get piss-drunk off of it as soon as George works out his shit.

“You shouldn’t be enabling me though, Georgie!” James grins, pinching his cheek.

  1. Fraser



George gets Fraser a new box of Cheerios to replace the ones that Fraser threw at him. Fraser looks at him like he’s insane.

“Why the fuck have you gotten me cereal?”

“It’s supposed to be symbolic!”

“Of what? The most important meal of the day?”

  1. Stephen



George panics and buys Stephen a box of chocolates. 

“You drove to Manchester,” Stephen says. “To bring me a box of Tesco chocolates.”

George rubs at his eyes. “Nah, can’t drive mate.”

“So, what, you took the train?”

“Yeah.”

Stephen opens the heart-shaped box and pops a chocolate into his mouth. Around the cherry cordial he says, “This is pretty shit.”

“Yeah, sorry,” George mumbles. 

“S’okay,” Stephen shrugs, offering George the box. He takes one. It’s pretty shit. “Probably shouldn’t have gotten me a Valentines’ Box, mate. I’m not the one you’re courting.”

“It’s not a Valentines’ Box,” George protests weakly.

Stephen waves away the protest. Around another chocolate, he asks. “Wanna go to the pub then, since you’re in town?”

  1. Mia



George gives Mia something called bath salts that smell like her flat, like lavender. The lady at the shop assures him that it isn’t a weird gift. He believes her, until Mia opens the gift and makes a face. 

“It’s not weird, is it?”

“It’s a little weird, George,” Mia laughs. “But thank you anyway. I don’t know what I did to deserve this…”

“I’m tryin’ to fix things,” George says. “So I’m apologizing to everyone with gifts. ‘m pretty shit at it, though. Gave Fraser a box of Cheerios. And I think Stephen may think I’m tryin’ to seduce him now.”

“What? Why would he think that?”

“I panicked and got him a box of chocolates from Tesco.”

The laugh Mia lets out almost makes everything worth it.

  1. Gee



He can’t think of anything to bring Gee, so he just brings himself.

She answers after the second time he rings the doorbell. 

“Why are you here?” She bites out.

He can’t blame her. He’s been a dick recently.

“I’ve been a dick recently,” George says. “Well. I’ve been a dick for a long time, but I’ve gone particularly shitty recently.”

“Yeah,” says Gee. “You’ve really been a fuck-up, George.”

“I want to fix it,” George says. “I do. I love him.”

“Yeah?” Gee says. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah,” George says.

“Well, why aren’t you there now?” Gee says. “Go fix things. Then we can talk.”

She shuts the door in his face. It’s fair. 

George goes back to his flat to pack a bag.

  1. Will



The train to Newcastle is lonely. George sleeps most of the time. He eats a ham sandwich that tastes like paste. Watches the city fade into lush green hills dotted with fat white sheep then back to city again, this time on a smaller scale.

He takes a cab from the train station to Will’s childhood home, pays the guy in cash. He’s too chatty, keeps asking George why he’s in Newcastle.

“Ay, mate, whatcha doin’ in Newcastle, then?” The guy asks for the fourteenth time, teeth working a piece of gum to the pulp. “Goin’ to visit a bird?”

“Going to visit a boy, actually,” George finally says. “A boy that I’m in love with.”

That shuts him right up.

Will’s parents’ home is a warm one-story dwelling, crusted in red brick. They’ve got the picket fence and white mailbox, the perfect picture of a family. Will’s mother must be on a gardening kick, because the front garden is done up in rows of red flowers, rose-bushes parked neatly behind tulips. George marches up to the front door, his bag slung over his shoulder. 

Will’s mom answers, a perky smile gracing her pink lips. “Why, hello there!”

“Hello ma’am, I’m looking for––”

Will’s mom cuts him off, “Sorry, love, but we’re not interested in solicitors.”

She closes the door in his face. 

George stands there, hopping from foot to foot, completely unsure as to how to proceed. 

He texts Will, who, predictably, doesn’t respond.

_ 1:27 _

_ George: _

_ Will? _

_ I’m in front of your house _

_ Pls let me in _

_ Ur mum thinks I’m trying to sell something _

Feeling terribly creepy, he waddles around the side of the house, peeking in the windows to see if Will is visible.

Will’s mom is, miraculously, invested in the episode of Love Island playing on the telly, Darcy, fat and happy, on her lap. Will’s dad is in his study, huddled over his desk. 

And Will’s there. He’s haloed by the afternoon sunlight, playing Fifa in his room. He’s gnawing on his lower lip in concentration. He’s beautiful.

George doesn’t even realize how much he’s been missing Will until he sees him again. His heart feels choked in his chest. 

He wants to scream until Will notices him, but he recognizes that Will’s parents would likely call the police (and be warranted in doing so). Desperate, he picks up a pebble from the ground beside him and chucks it at the window, thinking it will bounce delicately off like in the movies, and create a loud enough sound that Will will notice. 

The pebble hits the window. The window shatters. 

“What the fuck?!” Will yelps, gaze snapping toward the window. His eyes land on George, who looks just as terrified and shocked as Will feels. “George? What are you––”

“Honey?” Will’s mom calls. Panicking, George throws himself to the ground in a bid to be less noticeable. “Is everything alright? I think I heard something break!”

“Everything’s fine, mom!” Will shouts back. “It’s all, uh, tickity-boo!”

“Okay, love!” Will’s mom replies, returning to her show.

“Tickity-boo?” George repeats, incredulous.

“What the fuck are you doing here, George?” Will hisses. He’s sweeping the shards of glass off the windowsill with a dog hair-brush, still trying to look threatening. George has to repress the insane urge to laugh. 

“I have to talk to you,” George says. Standing outside of Will’s window, he realizes how ill-thought-out his plan is. “I… You haven’t been answering my messages.”

“What?” Will says, making a face. “Of course I haven’t been answering your messages! I’m mad at you, ya tit!”

“Well, can I…” George swallows, licks his lips, uncertainty rolling off of him in waves. “Can I come in?”

“Can you come in?” Will repeats, eyes wide and incredulous . “You just broke my window!”

“I thought it’d be romantic!” 

“You could have just knocked, George! This isn’t Romeo and fucking Juliet!” Will runs a hand through his hair, considering. “Fuck it, fine. Come in.”

What follows is an acrobatic disaster. George attempts to climb through the window into Will’s room and falls on his ass three separate times. When he does climb in successfully, he ends up scratching himself from elbow to halfway up his forearm. He stands in the middle of Will’s room clutching his arm. “Ow,” he says, blood dripping onto the carpet.

“Fucking hell, George,” Will snorts. “It’s only one story. You’re a bloody disaster.”

“The bloody bit’s right,” George says. 

“Sit down,” Will says, pointing to his bed. “I’ll get a plaster.”

George does as he’s told. Will’s room feels smaller without him in it. The walls are lined in outdated football posters, the bedspread is a faded navy blue. Well-loved but long unused. 

Will didn’t pause the Fifa game, so he’s lost brutally.

On the desk, Will’s phone buzzes. Feeling curious, and a little guilty, George sneaks over and checks who it is. Alex, asking if Will’s doing alright. 

Underneath the new text are the legions of old ones George sent him, all unread. He blinks back tears, replaces the phone, and sits back on the bed, tucking his legs underneath him like a little kid. 

“Are you okay, George?” Will asks from the doorway. 

“No,” George admits. “I’ve really missed you.”

Will closes the door behind him before sitting beside George on the bed. “I’ve missed you too,” he says, quietly. “Now give me your arm.”

George extends his arm, and Will takes it with light, nimble fingers. He takes a bundle of plasters and an alcohol wipe from his pocket and places it on the bed. George winces at a sudden sting to his injury–– he hadn’t even noticed that Will had ripped open the alcohol wipe’s packet and had begun cleaning his wound. 

“How long were you planning on hiding out here?” George asks. He doesn’t know why he asks that, just that it’s what comes out of his mouth. 

Will snaps up at the question, meeting George’s gaze. “I… I don’t know. As long as I needed to, I guess.” He drops his gaze, contemplating. “No. That’s not true. I think I’ve been waiting to see you.”

Will’s touch is warm and persistent, and George suppresses a shudder.

“Sorry it’s taken me so long,” George says.

“S’okay,” Will says. “You’ve been busy. Stephen says you brought him a box of chocolates.”

“Fuck, he told you about that?” George groans. “I had no idea what to get him.”

“I don’t understand why you needed to get him anything,” Will says. He tosses the used wipe in the general direction of his trash can, but misses by a wide berth. 

“I’m trying to fix things,” George explains. “I’ve… I’ve been fuckin’ up a lot. Mia told me that apologizing to everyone might help.”

“She said that?” Will asks. 

“Well, no. She said something about apologies being “cathartic”, and I assumed this is what she meant.”

“You have no idea what cathartic means, do you.”

“No a single fuckin’ clue.”

Will laughs at that and begins peeling open a plaster. 

“I thought you’d be a lot more angry with me,” George says. “The last time we saw each other…”

“Being angry is exhausting,” Will says, pressing the first plaster on. Since the wound is long and thin, George figures he’s planning on making a latter of the bandages. “I stopped being angry after the first week. Now, I just want to know why.”

“Why?” George asks.

“Why,” Will confirms. “You say you love me, George. But you’ve done some messed up shit to me. I know I overreacted with the Toby thing and I’m sorry about that. But New Year’s? I don’t understand that.”

The second bandage goes on. “New Year’s…” George’s mind rolls over the events of that fateful evening, how it destroyed everything, but also how it forced George to realize. “New Year’s was a mistake.”

Will winces. “Fucking hell, George.”

“No, no, not like that!” George says, panicking. “I don’t regret… I don’t regret what happened. Kissing you. I don’t regret that.”

Will presses on the third bandage. Cautiously, he asks, “Then what do you regret?”

“Kissing you before I knew,” George says. “Before I came to terms with being bi. Before I realized I was in love with you.”

Will sucks in a breath. “And how… how did you know? That you loved me?”

“I… that’s hard. Because I knew, I really  _ knew  _ when I say you dancing with Mia at that club… and I just wished it was me. I wanted that, wish you, so badly,” George says. “But I think I knew before that. You put on your shoes without untying them, you know? And you always burn the tea leaves, no matter what. I think that… that did it for me.”

“You take your tea in stupid way,” Will whispers, putting on the fourth and final bandage. “And you always wrinkle your nose when you don’t like something.” He looks up at George, warm fingers wrapped around his wrist. “That’s what did it for me.”

“I… I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself,” George says. He doesn’t even mean to say it, it just slips out of his lips. 

“This is the last time, George,” Will says. He looks so, so vulnerable. “The last time. You’re sure that you love me? That this is what you want?”

“Will, please just fucking kiss me already,” says George. 

But Will doesn’t. Instead, he presses his lips to the inside of George’s wrist. George shudders.

“Promise me,” Will whispers, lips warm against George’s wrist. “Promise me you love me. Promise me you won’t make me have to mope at my parents’ for a month again. I’ve played so much goddamn Fifa, George, I think I’m gonna die.”

“I promise,” George says. “God, Will, I promise. I love you. And I feel like a right sop for saying it, but I love you too much to care.”

And because Will’s taking too long, George climbs into Will’s lap and kisses him. Will lets out a soft noise as their lips meet, something between a moan and a sigh that sets George’s blood on fire. He kisses Will hard–– desperately, his tongue sliding against Will’s, his hips rolling against Will’s, his hands gripping the sharp angle of Will’s jaw. 

Will’s hands are everywhere–– George’s hair, the back of his neck, trailing down to the sides of his hips. George feels electric. He slides a hand under Will’s shirt, rucking it up to his chest, heat permeating from Will’s skin into his fingers. Will is corded in lean muscle–– he works out when he’s stressed, and the results make George shiver.

“Off, off,” George mumbles against Will’s lips, thumbing at Will’s shirt. Will pulls back, laughing, and struggles to pull off his own shirt because of George’s weight atop him. 

“Get this off too, then,” Will says, fingers fumbling at the edge of George’s shirt.

Both shirts get thrown onto the carpet. George presses his hands against Will’s chest, memorizing every curve to his body. Will follows suite, fingertips tracing the line of George’s collarbone, the dip at the base of his neck, the hard plane of his sternum. 

“I want to give you a hickey,” Will says, matter-of-fact. “Right there.” He points to the juncture of George’s neck and shoulder.

George tries his best not to sound too eager. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

Will flips George around, pressing him into the bedspread, commanding. His lips are on George’s neck, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise.

George can’t help himself, he giggles. 

“Did you just laugh?” Will asks.

“It tickles there!” George squeaks, turning red in embarrassment.

“You’re not supposed to laugh! This is supposed to be all sexy-like!”

“You are sexy!” George protests. “This is proper sexy! I’m just ticklish, innit.”

“I’m appalled that you would laugh at me,” Wil says. George bristles, feeling a hand work its way down his chest, landing at his belt buckle. As Will talks, he slowly unbuckles George’s belt. If he wasn’t hard already, he certainly is now. “This won’t make you laugh, I reckon.”

Will’s fingers are threading through the thatch of hair that sits at the apex of George’s thighs. He lets out a noise that he certainly would be embarrassed of if he was cognizant as Will wraps his fingers around the base of George’s cock.

“Oh, god,” George mewls. 

“Is this okay?” Will asks. “I don’t want to go too far––”

“This is more than okay,” George gasps out. Will’s fingers tracing a vein at the base of his cock and he feels like he’s burning up. “This is… oh, god, Will, this is so much more than okay.”

Will smiles, soft, and captures George’s lips as he starts to jerk George off. George is a moaning, gasping mess beneath him. It’s too much, too much sensation, too much Will all at once. 

“I want you inside me,” George babbles, unable to stop himself. “I want you to fuck me. If you want to. Please.”

Will pulls back, eyes wide. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. God, yes. Please.”

“O-okay,” Will says. He’s let go of George now, and is rustling around in his bedside table. George misses Will’s hands on him. He misses his hands desperately. A whine crawls up his throat, and he reaches for Will, desperate and wanting.

“Yeah, no whining lad,” Will pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom. “’kay. I, uh… I reckon you should take your pants off now.”

“Well, I can’t do that with you sat on top of me, can I?” George protests. 

Will rolls off of him and begins to shed his joggers. George kicks himself out of his jeans and underwear. He’s staring at Will and he knows it, but he can’t help himself. 

Will’s beautiful. Every inch of skin he reveals sucks the air out of George. He’s suddenly self-conscious as he looks at Will naked. Will looks like he’s been sculpted out of marble. Even his cock is perfect, long and thick, skin slightly darker than the rest of him, his swollen head pointed up toward his belly button. 

George has no idea how that could possibly fit inside him. He’s barely experimented with anal himself, only fingers and a whispered cry of Will’s name as he came. This is something else entirely, something delicious and real. He wants Will to fuck him. He wants Will to fuck him  _ hard _ .

“God, George,” Will says, almost reverent as he looks George over. “You have no idea… you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me,” George pleads. He’s squirming, spine pressed against the bed, completely bare. It’s intense, being this vulnerable. But he meets Will’s piercing gaze, and he feels safe. “Please. Show me.”

Will nods like he doesn’t trust himself with words. He uncaps the lube and begins to slick up his fingers. 

George thinks that he loves watching Will like this. Nervous, excited, energy building with every movement, but still caring to do each task well. It’s lovely in a way he can’t seem to explain.

“You’re really fucking pretty,” George mumbles from his prone position. 

Will blinks, still working the lube onto his fingers. “What?”

“You’re really pretty,” George repeats. 

Heat rises up Will’s cheeks. “Only big George Memeulous could have me blushing when he’s stark naked on my wee twin bed from primary school,” he says. He looks down at his fingers, eyebrows creasing. “’m gonna be honest, George. I’m not quite sure how to go about this.”

“I don’t…” George starts, then cuts himself off, biting his lip. “I don’t really know how either. Bit new at this n’ all. You’re supposed to be the big gay experienced one.”

Will chuckles and steps forward, closer to George. “Not really, mate. Blew a bloke in a bathroom once, but that doesn’t make us a fountain of expertise.”

“Right then,” George says, reaching for Will’s lubed-up hand. He draws Will closer, until his fingers are brushing his puckered hole. “We’ll have to figure it out together then, won’t we?”

Will swallows, nods. He looks wrecked. “Do I just… shove one in?”

George tenses. “What? Fuck, no, mate!” Will recoils at that, obviously afraid that he’s done something wrong. “No, no,” George quickly amends, “Just…  _ ease _ one in. Gotta make sure I’m not gonna break when you pipe me, yeah?”

Will comes closer again, this time nudging George’s thighs apart, settling himself between them. His pointer finger traces a line around the ring of muscles that encircles George’s hole, introducing them to the concept of being breached. “This is right filthy, this is.”

George licks his lips, looks up at Will through his eyelashes. “That’s kind of the point, Will, innit?”

Will tips his finger inside of George, pressing in to the first knuckle. It’s not enough, George wants more, has to fight the urge to beg for it. 

“How’s this?” Will asks, still sounding unsure. 

“More,” George pleads. “Fuck, Will, please.”

“Greedy, greedy,” Will snorts. He presses in all the way, until he hits the base of his finger. Then he stops.

“Well, move then!” George cries, aching for more.

Again, Will snorts out a little laugh, developing a steady rhythm with his finger. “You’re cute like this,” he says.

“Like–– oh–– like what?” George’s voice cracks when Will’s finger grazes something like lightning inside him. 

“Needy,” Will grins. He takes the opportunity to introduce a second finger, and the added stretch is delicious. George tips his head back, keening, and Will leans forward and sucks a bruise on his collarbone. 

Will’s scissoring him now, opening him up in a way that makes George see stars. He crooks his fingers and presses against  _ that spot _ , and George has to repress a scream. 

“S-stop that,” George gasps. “Stop or I’ll cum.”

Will’s breath is hot against the shell of George’s ear. “Isn’t that the point, George?”

“I––” George starts, cutting himself off with a moan at Will’s continued ministrations. “I don’t want to… to cum like this.”

“How do you want to cum, then?” Will asks. His voice has dropped an octave, all sultry and suave. Normally George would make fun of the tone shift, but he feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton. 

“I, God,” George says, feeling something curl in the pit of his stomach. “I want to cum with you inside me.”

Will pulls back then, fingers and all, leaving George open and vulnerable. George lets out a whine as he feels himself begin return to being empty.

Will doesn’t seem to notice this desperation. His eyes are bright and wide as saucers. “You… really?”

“Please,” George whimpers.

Will beams, sunshine playing across his lips as he turns to his bedside table and begins searching through it. He pulls out a condom, triumphant, and rips it open. 

Eagerly, George leans forward and helps pulls it down Will’s length. Unable to help himself, he thumbs at Will’s slit, just to make him shiver. 

“Alright, settle down,” Will says, pushing George back against the bed. As Will coats himself in lube, he asks, “So, how do you want this?”

“I heard that it’d feel the best for you if I’m on all fours.” George swallows, stops himself. It feels painfully dirty to say the words aloud. 

“It’ll be good for me regardless,” Will says, catching George’s gaze. “It’s you, innit? It’ll be good for me.” Will presses his lips together, hesitant, before saying, “I’d like to… I’d like to see you, when you cum. If that’s okay.”

George thinks he might be on fire. Carefully he hooks his legs around Will’s back and draws him closer, until the head of Will’s cock is brushing his hole. “Then fuck me already, Will.”

Will nods, meeting George’s gaze once more before he moves his hands to George’s ass and pulls apart his cheeks. He traces a thumb over George’s hole for a moment, teasing him.

“Get on with it,” George whines.

“Alright then,” Will mutters. And then he’s pushing into George, the blunt head of his cock stretching George out as he goes. There’s a moment of stillness, of silence when Will bottoms out and looks to George, waiting for permission. 

Taking Will inside of him is a lot. Not just because Will is long ( _ and he is _ ), but because this is Will. And Will is inside George. And Will is waiting for George to let him know that it’s okay to fuck him until he doesn’t remember his own name. That’s a lot. 

Finally, George feels himself adjust to the openness and he nods at Will. Will presses a chaste kiss to George’s shoulder, and then he’s fucking George like the world is ending.

Will’s cock drags against George’s walls as he thrusts, creating a friction that makes George keen. Will presses George’s pelvis into the mattress, fingertips etched so deeply onto George’s hip bones that purple fingerprints will litter his skin later, like discarded flower petals. 

Will shifts the angle, hooks one of George’s legs over his shoulder and pushes into him with renewed vigor. The angle has George seeing stars, constellations, worlds that aren’t there. He’s gasping for air, he finds Will’s shoulder and bites it, just to ground himself. 

It’s not perfect. It’s rough and raw and heady, but it’s Will, so George wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

The pressure is building inside George now, flintstones cracking together, sparking something inevitable. “I’m gonna… gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” Will asks. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he’s smiling. “Good.”

He shifts, moves, something, and then he’s hitting George’s prostate with each thrust, each movement bringing George closer to oblivion.

Will kisses George softly, a whisper of affection against lips, and that’s what does it.

The tinder catches. George combusts.

He comes hard, ropes of white hitting both his and Will’s chests, some staining Will’s sheets. He feels sated in a way he never has before.

George notices Will’s expression, his uncertainty. He’s making to pull out when George stops him. 

“No,” George says. “Could you…”

“Yeah?” Will prompts, stilling inside George. 

“Could you… Want you to come in me,” George mumbles. He feels embarrassed admitting this, for some reason. But Will’s expression makes it feel worth it.

“Yeah, okay, I can do that,” Will says. He starts to move again in earnest, chasing his orgasm. Distantly, George notices his own overstimulation, but he’s too absorbed in watching Will fuck him to notice. 

He pulls Will in for a kiss, all lips and tongue, just relishing being with the other when Will comes sheathed inside him, shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

George feels like ice water has been poured down his back.

“Honey?” Will’s mother calls. George feels Will freeze above him. “Could you, um, could you turn that down please?”

Will swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes wide and panicky. “Yeah, sorry mum!”

They listen as footsteps pad away from the door, only relaxing when the hum of Love Island is resumed. 

“My mum heard us fucking,” Will says, aghast. “And she thought I was watching porn at full volume.”

George has to fight the urge to laugh. “Do that often then, Will?”

Will grabs a pillow and smacks George with it. “It’s not funny, George! My mum heard us  _ having sex _ .”

“Noticed that, I did,” George says. “I’m an observant bloke.” He’s too pleased to be bothered, too happy to be under Will, who’s haloed in the afternoon sunlight. “You’re still inside me, by the way,” he adds, nonchalant.

Will looks down to see that he is, in fact, still inside George. “Shit, sorry.” His cheeks color as he pulls out and ties off the condom, then tosses it in the trash. 

“Pass us some pants, yeah?” George says, all lazy smiles. 

Will tosses him a pair of boxers and they both slide into their respective underwear. George feels giddy in Will’s pants, basking in the afterglow of being fucked. He didn’t know how it would feel, didn’t know that it would feel this good. Didn’t know if it always felt this good after, or if it was just because he was with Will. 

Will stands by the bed awkwardly, long limbs loose and radiating uncertainty. George makes grabby-hands at him. “Come cuddle us, then. Don’t need you looking like a lost puppy in your own room.”

Will smiles softly, then clambers onto his bed next to George, his fingers finding their way into George’s hair, stroking softly. George hums, pressing his face into Will’s chest. He smells like herbal tea and that terrible rainforest deodorant. He smells like home. 

Will grabs his phone and starts scrolling through something. George makes a face. “What’re you reading?”

“The messages you sent me,” Will says. “Reckon I should read them now.”

George hums, soft and sated, and presses a kiss to Will’s collarbone. “Okay.”

Will muffles a laugh into the palm of his hand. “Fuck, George.”

“What?”

“‘ _ Everything is darker when you’re not here _ ,’” Will reads. “‘ _ Probably because I haven’t turned on a light in ages _ .’”

“Oh, fuck off,” George laughs. “I was lonely, don’t make fun of me.”

“Fraser threw Cheerios at you?”

“I swear to god, I will leave––” George starts, making to crawl off the bed.

“No, no––” Will laughs, wrapping George up in his arms. “Stay.”

“This is  _ abuse _ ––” says George, but he’s cut off by Will pulling him in for a kiss. It’s lovely. George melts, feels his muscles turn to pudding as he moulds himself against Will. 

“I can’t believe my mother heard me fucking you,” Will mutters.

George laughs. He can’t help himself, it’s just too ridiculous. “Let’s not fuck near your parents next time, yeah?”

Will looks down at George, eyes wide. “Next time?”

“Yeah, next time,” George says. He registers Will’s shocked expression and makes a face. “What? You didn’t think I was gonna fuck you and then leave forever, did ya?”

“Was scared you would,” Will mutters, carding his hands through George’s hair. “Glad I was wrong.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” George says. He catalogues the cut of Will’s jaw, the softness of his eyes, the dimple that is tucked into his left cheek and says, “I love you.”

Will sucks in a breath. “Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you saying that.”

“Don’t want you to,” George murmurs, feeling his eyes droop with sleep. “Gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“I love you too,” Will says, pressing a kiss to George’s forehead.

George feels himself smile before he drifts off to sleep. A sleep that’s filled with Will, with tea leaves and shoelaces, New Year’s on the balcony, kisses in Newcastle. A sleep that’s ice-to-fire, an inevitable burn. A sleep filled with Will.

George thinks that this is the best kind of sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! please let me know what you thought by leaving a comment–– this is my first time writing RPF and writing smut, so there's a lot I'm unsure of. 
> 
> and come say hi on Tumblr (@chattre-kisses) or Twitter (@CanQuinn)
> 
> xoxo Quinn


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